


a river of fireflies (let’s watch from the train window)

by RyeFo



Category: Hotaru no Haka | Grave of the Fireflies (1988), Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi | Spirited Away
Genre: Afterlife, Conversations, Gen, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 13:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20621957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyeFo/pseuds/RyeFo
Summary: Two strangers strike up a conversation on a train. It's a rather mundane tale, really. Perhaps not worth your time to take a gander, a merry little stroll through these words.But, if you are curious, you may learn a little something.(Written for the 2019 Ghibli "Voyage" Zine)





	a river of fireflies (let’s watch from the train window)

The little thing about dying young: one can’t tell the difference between what comes after and make-believe.

There’s no need for sleep here, not really, but her older brother sleeps regardless. Maybe because the skies aren’t screaming at him anymore, or because their bellies haven’t needed filling since they first found each other. There’s no need to sleep or eat or even _think, _but sometimes little habits like being alive don’t die easy.

His body rocks with the train, meanders, and shifts when it curves, but her brother stays asleep. He’s resting his head in her lap, and she braids his longer hair just like she did before she really understood what she was doing.

Her fingers are tiny and chubby and clumsy and barely more than a shadow; she’s making knots more than plaits, but there’s time to do it now.

There wasn’t before.

She tries to crane her head to look outside—when they got on the train, miles, and miles of golden fields stretched out past the water—but all she can see is occasional streetlights blip by. They remind her of the fireflies.

And her mind wanders; she imagines mermaids and flying fish trying to catch flowers caught on the train wheels to make bracelets and homes; or maybe little mice scurrying to get the train home after a long day of work, nibbling on fallen stars as a snack.

Her brother would indulge her in these stories; her Aunt… what was her name? Well, whatever it was, she wouldn’t like her thinking of these things. Didn’t matter now. She was with her brother. Being bad didn’t mean anything when one was at peace.

Her brother shifts again, curling up away from her lap. Freed, she hops off the seat, bare feet sending shivers up her spine from the cold floor, and she begins to look around at the train carriage. Luggage bulges in the storage compartments overhead (her brother said those funny bags were called suitcases), and if she squints, she can almost make out the shape of a face on those golden coins.

There’s a little fox asleep, curled up on top of shredded newspaper and neatly stacked tree branches. His beautiful red tail dangles in front of nine odd shadows that are always facing East. When she waves at him, he raises his head and squints right back at her.

“Are you off exploring, little one?” An old lady says, plucking a piece of thread from a nearby spider’s web.

“Mm-hm,” the little one chirps at her, as she threads it through her little needle. “I like being able to see new things.”

“Young ones always do.” There’s a small fondness in her voice. The little one remembers a similar tone from somewhere, long ago. But when she tries to think, all she remembers is bandages and fire.

The old lady gestures with her hand. “Don’t wander too far, little one.”

“Why?”

“You may forget the way back.” The colours in her cheeks fade as she settles back into her chair, and her voice fades into the fabric she pierces with her needle.

* * *

The little one remembers little else but those words, _don’t wander too far, you may forget how to return, _or however it was phrased, but curiosity is seldom killed by the young. Tell a cat how to dance before you tell a child not to do anything; you’ll garner more success.

She’s a little, wry thing; barely any bigger than a shadow cast by candlelight. She slips in and out of carriages easily, though she knows not of their purpose. Idly combing her sights through the carriage of silent baby carriages, the windows always showing moving stars. The suitcases of half-hearts still beating, and songs caught in glass jars. Or the carriage without windows; instead, hundreds of cat flaps constantly swaying, and none of them stay past tea-time or a dance. She likes cats dancing the most. She almost remembers what the colour blue is.

But it’s this carriage she happens upon now, that captures her the most.

There’s a boy, maybe older than her, perhaps not, who sits with his feet dangling off the train. He’s whistling something—a song, maybe—and stares in the opposite direction to where the train is going.

The little one closes the door, and the boy hears her little steps on the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?” He asks.

“No,” she says, walking up to him slowly. “I’m looking.”

“For?”

She shrugs. “Anything.”

“I’m afraid I’m not anything. But, you are free to sit for a while, if you’ve been walking long.”

She remembers her manners. “Thank-you.”

So, she sits beside the boy, though her feet aren’t as close to the tracks as she would have liked. His toes are leaving trails from being in the water.

“Aw.”

He glances over to her. “What’s wrong?”

She feels her little lips curl into a pout. “There’s no mice on the tracks.”

“Ah,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I was disappointed as well. But, if you look closer, see?” She peers over the edge—gasping at what the boy points at. “We aren’t entirely alone.”

“Fish!” She squeals, their scales glinting in the morning light. “They don’t fly, but there’s fish!”

She can feel the boy’s smile against her back. “You like the water?”

“I think I do.” Her finger flicks the stream next to them. “It’s nice to see it stay still.”

When she casts her gaze out again, the entire view in front of them is nothing but a still ocean. Fish jump out a little to taste the morning sunlight or to dance with the birds who swoop down to leave them a dainty feather or two.

A little breeze begins to whistle through her ears. “How long have you been on the train?” She asks, rolling on her back and sticking her legs up in the air.

“Hm…” He cups his chin. “You know, I don’t remember. I cannot recall when I boarded.”

“Me either.” She cranes her head backward, feeling the sunlight kiss her forehead. “But I think it’s been for a really long time. My brother fell asleep.”

“Your brother? You didn't come alone?”

“I waited for him. But, yes. He’s tall.” She stretches her arms out. “Like—_this _tall.”

“And you’re not?”

The little one shakes her head. “People call me _little one_ a lot. So no, I don’t think so.” She scrunches up her face. “I’m not _that _little.”

“You’re definitely the tallest person laying down right now.” The boy laughs again, and she opens her eyes to see cold eyes looking back at her. But his voice is warm, so she isn’t scared.

“So,” the boy begins again, “where else have you looked on the train?”

“I’ve seen a _bunch _of stuff!” She shoots up, clutching her fists together so hard they begin to turn from shadow to white, and the midday sunlight outside shines so brightly it near-blinds her. “Like—like I saw cats dancing, and this old lady used a spider’s thread for sewing, and there were raccoons who could fly! Oh, and there were a bunch of glass cups with music in them.” She scratched her head. “I didn’t understand that. _But _it still looked pretty! I didn’t know the songs here had colours!”

“Some do, I suppose.” He leaned back on his hands, an amused grin splitting his lips wider. “Have you been to the front of the train?”

Something causes the little one to freeze. “No, uh…” She ducks her head. “I don’t like it there.”

“Oh?”

She swallows. “It’s too hot.” Her mouth feels like chalk as more reasons come up. “A-and there’s red sparks coming from the loud parts. And those black stones scare me.”

“I’m sorry I asked, little one.” She tugs at the strings of her inky-black shawl, her white knuckles fading back into the shadows cast from the train. “Do you fear all red sparks?”

She sits back beside him. “No, not all of them.” She kicks her legs outside the train to feel the breeze. “I like fireflies.”

“The little lightning bugs?”

“Mm.” She hums, “they remind me of things.”

“Like?”

“Like…” A gasp follows. “Oh, like my name! I remember my name.”

The boy looks at her as she takes down her blue hood. “Is it rude of me to ask what it is?”

Her black, choppy hair falls to frame her pale face, and she smiles at him. “Nah, it’s mine to tell. It’s Setsuko.”

“That’s a very pretty name.”

“Thanks! People tell me not to let others take it, so I don’t think about it too much.” Setsuko frowns, kicking the water. Ripples make the evening sun tremble, and there’s a distant view of trees beginning to take shape over the horizon. “But it’s _my _name, yeah? I don’t want to forget it just because there are bad people.”

“Sometimes, little one, we don’t have a choice.” Setsuko looks at the boy, and she can see something in his eyes. It's more than the reflection of the river, the water almost swallows it up. There's another colour swimming in there, and Setsuko has to squint to make it out.

_Pink? _

"But that's not your story, is it?" He snaps her out of her reverie with another comment, smiling at her when she tries to follow along what he's been saying. “You use your name however you wish.”

“I will.” She pauses, before asking, “you can’t remember yours, huh?”

“I’m afraid not.” The pink fades away, and what’s left in his eyes is just the river. “It seems that was left behind when I got on this train.”

“But you _did _have one.”

He looks a little surprised at her.

“You remember that you _did _have one, so you _have _one. Which means you didn’t come here as a nothing.” Her little brown eyes glisten as she stands back up. “You’re a _something._”

“I…” He looks down. Hands grip his clothes for purchase. “I suppose so, Setsuko.”

She opens her mouth to say more, but something in the air makes her falter, and the train sounds its horn. When she raises her head, the sunlight has started to fade. The night has fallen, for her.

“Oh.”

He seems to know what’s on her mind, keeping his feet in the water like nothing’s changed. “You’ve found what you’re looking for?”

“Yeah.” Setsuko folds her arms, the shadows beginning to eat up her mortal form from her bare feet and upward. “I think this is where me and my brother get off.”

“You’d best find him, then.” He holds out a hand for her. “Do you remember the way back?”

Setsuko nods. “Yeah. I didn’t wander off. I just found something.”

“Which was?”

After putting up her hood, the little one takes the boys hand and gently squeezes it. “I don’t know, really. But I liked talking to you.”

He smiles at her, the shadows on her body almost creeping up to her shoulders now. “It was nice meeting you.”

She shakes her head. “It’s only nice if you remember it. So just don’t forget.”

“I think once you meet someone, you never really do.”

The girl smile, the shadows being polite and leaving her glistening eyes for when she turns away from him.

When she leaves the carriage, the boy puts his hands back into his lap and stares at the fish bobbing by the wayside of the tracks. It's only a few moments before the shadows engulf him as well, staring at the sky as he resumes whistling his long-forgotten song. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the "Voyage: A Ghibli Travel Zine"! If you're interested in getting the full PDF, please follow the link I have provided here (it's completely free!): https://voyagezine.bigcartel.com/


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